The Torture Test

This past weekend was a big weekend – or so I’ve been told. I brought the SO home to spend two days with my beautifully loud, chaotic family. I never really got nervous about it (minus the whole ceramics thing my mother insisted on making for him) though I was a bit anxious to see how he would hold up. The last time I brought a guy home for the parents, my freshmen year of college, we broke up driving down to see them. The family still hasn’t let me live down calling from a gas station bathroom carelessly stating “we just broke up so don’t be nice to him while we’re there.” Needless to say, that weekend (and that relationship) didn’t end so well for the poor guy.

But to really understand the demands of this weekend, you’d first have to understand my family.

My parents are getting ready to celebrate their 29th year of marriage. My sister and her husband just celebrated three years – after dating seven years since high school. My point being that my family is all about longevity in relationships and, well, my dating record of several light-hearted, painfully meaningless relationships thus far has cast me as the black sheep. It came to my attention this weekend that my family (mom, dad, sister and grandma) are incapable of speaking of relationships in the short-term. They would never dream to put pressure on me but they just simply aren’t programmed to think in terms of months instead of years, boyfriends instead of husbands. But you know what? I’m actually kind of thankful for that – it’s constantly kept my standards high.

So, after two days of playing too much golf and drinking too much beer, I’m happy to report that we left Florida with my mom and sister glowing with approval. My dad leaned over and told me he wanted to play golf with the SO again soon (which is his way of saying he approved, too). And grandma, well she’s just happy she has another boy in the family to brag to her friends about – those grandmas are really competitive like that.

And the best part? As we drove back home after a long, trying weekend – he still was able to laugh and hold my hand the whole way. I guess its going to take more than a psychotic family to scare this one away.

Bless His Heart

The Olympics have officially taken over my life and I’ve spent a better part of the past week curled up on a couch watching/crying/screaming for the USA (or really any athlete that has a good profile story). I’ve never been into the Olympics quite like I have this year but I've latched on to them with such enthusiasm this year. I’ve found myself up until the wee hours of the morning watching (note: they should really consider time differences when they pick host cities!).

I’ve loved making comparisons between different countries – the physical beauty, cultures and pride from each country is so unique and captivating. And, as you know, I wish I were a bit more worldly and less Americanized but it’s something I’m working on and seems to be improving. I became more confident in my progress the other night as I watched synchronized diving with the SO. The below transcript is not exaggerated nor changed for effect – it simply describes my delightfully simple, ultra-American, desperately southern boyfriend. Bless his heart.

SO: “I can’t believe how American they’ve made everything in China for these Olympics.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
SO: “Even the numbers are in English – look at the section numbers in the stands, they're clearly American.”
Me: (waiting for him to say he’s joking) “Honey – numbers are universal, they are just pronounced differently in other languages.”
SO: “So you’re saying numbers in, say, Germany look just like numbers in the US?”
Me: (Laughing hysterically) “YES! That’s exactly what I’m saying”

Like I said, bless his heart.

I love my job

Kelly [8:54 AM]: morning!
Kelly [8:54 AM]: coffee?

Ginny [8:54 AM]: dear lord -- hi
Ginny [8:54 AM]: Hold on -- I'm sorting out Vietnam issue

Kelly [8:54 AM]: hahaha oh dear

Ginny [8:54 AM]: Give me 3 minutes

PMS: An emotional tale

Every girl can relate to the time of the month where the universe shifts and you have no control, whatsoever over your emotions. Last week was said time for me and I fought back tears, anger and even plotting a murder (its extreme people) all while trying to live a normal, functional life. Since becoming newly relationed (yep, I just made that up) I can now see clearly two sides of the PMS argument in relationships.

One side: Poor guy. I’ve never had such an easy target for my emotions when they swirl uncontrollably as I do now with a SO (significant other, get with it people). Suddenly everything about this new love is obnoxious and wrong. He doesn’t care enough about me. He wants to spend way too much time together. He puts everything before me. He loves me too much. It’s expressed by short, snappy comments and an unexplained hatred that is soon replaced by irrefutable love. Poor guy – he’s probably second guessing this relationship as we speak.

Other side: Poor girl. As much as guys think this PMS thing sucks for them, I’d argue (quite aggressively in this state) that it is a million times worse in my head. I’m continuously trying to decipher between real emotions and hormone induced hatred. I over analyze for hours and tear myself apart with all that is messed up in the world. I am not a crier so having to fight back tears because I came across a YouTube video about an elephant reuniting with its long-lost circus elephant friend is just frustrating (I feel ya, Kate). Note: I did actually sob in my cube watching this the other day, ridiculous.

This all came to light yesterday as I ate dinner with the SO and his friends. Somehow this topic gets brought up and one of the guys says that he’s heard girls can start to get on the same schedule if they are around each other long enough (poor boys – they really have no clue). To which I chime in “Yes, its rather entertaining at my house when all three of us will cry at a Publix commercial.”

(Side note: Are those not the WORSE when you’re hormonal? The little boy baking that heart shape cake for his ‘girlfriend’ which in the end he really made for his mom!! Bring on the tissues.)

Anyway – the SO turns to me and says “Yeah, but why would you cry at that?” Having passed the dead zone a couple days before, I simply laughed and said, “we just can’t help it.”

Oh PMS – you really are a foul little devil.

I'm in love...

…with this guy. If it wasn’t so wonderful, it would be absolutely pathetic. I don’t even recognize myself right now.

As a single girl, I never understood how couples could spend so much time together and not get sick of each other. How do you have that much to say to each other? It can’t be great ALL the time, can it? Holding hands, giggling, kisses for no reason – give me a break. I guess I’ve always secretly hoped it would happen to me but I was too busy making sure that I was living up the single life that I didn’t even see this coming. Hello heels, welcome to my head.

I know I’m a total cliché of myself right now and that eventually this ‘honeymoon’ phase will be over but right now its simply fantastic.

The Great Escape of 2008

The day is finally here! Today my two best friends arrive in ATL to begin our road trip to Pennsylvania. I'm truly acting like a little kid on Christmas waiting for them to get here – its been too long since the three of us have been together (well really only a few months – but that's too long). I would sit here and tell you all about the adventure we have planned for ourselves (well – more realistically the adventure we don't have planned yet) but it really isn't about the trip. I'm just so excited to spend five days with the two people that have helped define me as a person.

We met in 6^th grade at church choir. I had just moved to our small town a year before and went to a different elementary school 'down the highway'. But middle school found the combination of both elementary schools together under one roof. Every Wednesday I would see Evan and Michelle (they've been best friends since kindergarten) walking to McDonald's and then subsequently standing in the choir loft a few rows behind me. In 7^th grade, I started taking church more seriously and eventually developed a relationship with Christ that my current friends just didn't understand – oh the drama of middle school! But Evan and Michelle did understand and so began our crazy friendship, based on the most solid foundation I can think of, our faith. Now, let's be clear – we aren't a bible beating, holier than thou type people -I have several memories of holding hair after too much alcohol to negate that fact – but the truth is that we've kept each other accountable and love each other with the understanding that despite all our mistakes, our hearts are in the right place.

Through college we didn't keep in touch as well as we should have. But, right when I thought things would never be the same I got a call from Michelle a few years ago. Her live-in boyfriend and she were having problems and she was unhappy. We of course talked to Evan about it too and when things ended for them, Ev and I jumped in the car and made our way to Michelle. Although Michelle will tell you that her breakup has been the worse experience of her life, I'd argue her breakup was the best for mine. It took something like that, something life altering for Michelle to realize how desperately we needed each other. Since then, we see each other every few months and talk frequently. Michelle and I went to France last year for a week after the break up and decided we'd do a vacation every year together (with Evan of course!).

So – today we celebrate twelve years of friendship. God bless Evan and Michelle. There are times when I truly don't know what I would have done without them. Their prayers, encouragement and occasional disappointment in me have kept me on what I hope to be the right track. Ironically Evan will soon be engaged and has moved back to our hometown. Michelle is now moving to Atlanta with me in August.

This trip will, no doubt, be full of memories and long talks in the car. Every time we get together I find a new sense of myself and get grounded all over again. It's a great change from the work and partying in Atlanta.

Happy Father's Day, Poppy!

My sister just wrote an incredible post about my dad in honor of Father’s Day. So good, in fact, that I sat in my cubicle and teared up just thinking about what an incredible dad we have – it's rare these days.

I’ve always secretly thought all the failed relationships of my past could all be contributed to the fact that no one could ever amount to half the man my dad is – fair or not, he’s the only consistent man in my life and I’m in no hurry to replace him. Perhaps the thing that I relate best to with my dad (that my sister and mom will never fully understand) is that he never takes life too seriously. He has a great way of taking life with a grain of salt – loving, living and laughing through it all.

My dad knows exactly how to rationalize with me and probably even more impressive knows how to tell me I’m wrong. As a single girl with very few people in my life to consider when I make decisions or get upset, my dad has always been an opinion that I actually listen to and need.

His family values are rock solid. Considering neither of my parents had the best family life growing up, this astonishes me. (It also pisses me off when people use the excuse of a ‘bad family upbringing’ for poor life choices) When we were growing up, my dad dove into everything my sister and I did with limitless enthusiasm. When I rode horses, he NEVER missed a practice or competition - always watching from the fence at every stride, every jump with beaming pride. When my sister and I took ballet he practiced pique turns with us in the kitchen and showed us how to point our feet correctly. When I was in 3rd grade and ran for class treasurer, he insisted (against my mother's wishes) on ordering me business cards - that's right a third grader with business cards, no wonder I'm career obsessed - complete with my "Save a Penny, Vote for Ginny" tag line.

.......

Now in my dating life, he’s always treated all my boyfriends as sons but I never, ever doubted that when my heart was broken he’d be there to pick up the pieces. Those conversations when I’m crying and hurt with my dad are the ones that mean the most – he never let’s me forget that I’m loved, unconditionally by him. His relationship with my mom is the reason (sometimes the ONLY reason) that one day I hope to get married. They are completely in love with each other and he would follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked. His love for my mom is simple, pure and uncomplicated. Not being with one another has never been an option and seeing one another through the tough times has only proven to create the strongest of marriages. I said it in my speech at my sister’s wedding and still believe it today – the two happiest couples I’ve ever seen have been my parents and my sister and Chris. It makes it impossible to settle for mediocrity in my own dating life.

So Happy Father’s Day, Poppy! I’ll always be your baby girl with big dreams and the family to help make them come true.

(Oh yeah and he’s also a great chef.)

Bummed

There are a lot of bums in Atlanta. I work right smack dab in the middle of downtown ATL which I would consider their state headquarters. Since working downtown (and riding MARTA to and from work) I usually get about three request a day from a bum asking for money. One bum in particular likes to pretend he has a missing leg to the tourist – as a regular pedestrian on his side walk I can say ‘pretend’ because the leg alters between his right and left.

When I first moved to the big city I didn’t have any preconceived prejudice against bums, I just didn’t know what to make of them. I would politely smile and say ‘no’ when they asked for change and gracefully step over them as they slept in front of my car door in my parking garage (when I use to drive to work). But as I started to really develop my career and put in 60-70 hours per week my sweet nature towards bums quickly changed. When I get a paycheck only to see a very large portion of that money going towards taxes it really pisses me off. I work incredibly hard for every penny I earn and I still worry about paying all of my bills and budgeting my expenses. So, I’m not too proud to admit this, but my sweet, southern ‘no’ to bums has (on more than one occasion) become ‘get a job.’

Well karma is a bitch.

Yesterday I was minding my own business walking down to the train to take home (because once again I’m trying to pitch pennies) when I paused for a cross walk. While I’m standing there, in my peripheral vision I see a bum coming up to me in his wheel chair. I continued to listen to my iPod and tried to remind myself it was better to ignore him than yell. So, when his first quiet attempts at saying ‘miss, miss’ to get my attention turned into abrupt yelling and waving his arm – I lost my cool. I turned harshly towards him ready to say “I have $1 in my wallet, $10 in my checking account and haven’t gone grocery shopping in two weeks and if you think just because I am walking from a job means that I have plenty of cash to just throw at you so you can just go buy some more liquor, you have another thing coming. Go get a job!!” Oh yeah, I was pissed.

But before I could even begin to yell he simply pointed to the sidewalk and said “excuse me.” There I was – standing on the wheel chair ramp at the cross walk, right in his way. I froze and turned three shades of red. I wanted to chase him and apologize properly – I wanted to cry. It was a bitch slap from God and it hurt. Though I don’t think I’ll be handing out dollars any time soon on my way to work, I’ve turned a new leaf in my prejudice. Homeless or gainfully employed, everyone deserves a little respect.

Who needs a title?

If I ever start a company - I'd strongly consider taking out titles for my employees. As in, no one would have a title... there would just be salary increases based on merit. I think titles are so restricting.


Apologies for my absense - my May summary includes London, moving, work & three graduations. I'll update soon.

Crazy Pills

I must be on them.

Today I signed up for a half marathon in San Francisco, California. It's through an organization called Team in Training and benefits the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. I'll be running in the Nike Women's Marathon (just saying that makes me sweat) on Oct. 19th, 2008.

Now, its no secret that I'm no athelete. I hate to sweat and I get nervous when my heart beats fast (seriously, I think its because my dad has heart problems but when my heart beats fast I get mild anxiety). I have played around with exercise but more out of thinking it was the right thing to do rather than actual interest in my health or getting in shape. I'm not overweight but I'm definitely no athelete. My best sport is golf for goodness sake! And pushing myself on the course consist of another beer and leaving my cart on the path instead of dropping myself off practcially on top of the ball.

I have no idea why I signed up to do this - I will probably die trying. But you know what? I'm actually really, really looking forward to it. I think it will be super healthy for me both mentally and physically. I'll have to push myself and it will get me out of my usual routine of drinking, working and dating (thank god-I needed an excuse to stop this dating crap). Yep, just me and the open road of Buckhead to occupy my thoughts for the next 171 days. I can feel myself getting in shape already -- or atleast buying new running shoes. How exciting!!!

Kelly mentioned that she wants all her friends and family to come out. First, I don't think anyone I know would actually believe that I'll follow through with this. And secondly, I don't want anyone there to watch me - I'll obviously be a nervous wreck so putting people there with high expectations of me to finish would just heighten my anxiety. So, you all get a free pass NOT to see me compete in a marathon. I'll take lots of pictures.

Butterflies

I hate dating. I avoid it at all cost and have tried desperately over the past few years to fall in love with several of my close guy friends instead. This tactic has ended badly in all attempts (as you can only imagine) and so I've recently recommitted to dating the old fashion way. Ugh-how mundane.

In my first attempt, I've started dating a hybrid of my old ways and new. I've known this boy for awhile through friends and our college days - an acquaintance, if you will. He's the nicest guy I've dated in a really long time. He's attentive, opens my car door, makes plans in advance, moves me out of my apartment (I mean, really, who volunteers for this?), calls regularly and is genuinely interested in my life. To be honest, its a stark comparison to the mediocrity I've let my dating world become. I really shouldn't be surprised when someone is eager to see me and willing to drive across town to do so - how have I forgotten that?

Here's the thing that's just killing me about this situation - he's just missing something. Or, more accurately, I'm missing something. You know, the butterflies. I'm hoping that my stomach has just forgotten this much needed response and those sleepy little boogers are waking up and any date now will come alive. Sadly, I think the reality of the situation is my heart is somewhere else, with someone else. Someone that doesn't open doors, would never consider driving to my side of town but knows exactly how to make me laugh and can read my thoughts like a book (which in itself is totally annoying and devilishly sexy).

I've decided though I have to continue on this path of dating the old way. I'm determined to find those stupid butterflies again and forget all about the boy that has captured mine and is holding them hostage. Maybe I can just hope for moths at this point?

Maturity? Whaaaa?

Saturday nights are routinely a highlight of my weekend. Since I graduated, got a job and began this game of growing up I take my weekends pretty seriously. I have exactly 48 hours to relive my college days of bar hopping and making some very silly memories. When my lovelies and I first got to the big ATL I truly believe we lived freshmen year all over, eagerly trying to drink our weight in alcohol just to prove to ourselves that a full time job and salary had not taken away our ability to party.

Now that I’m maturing (ha) those crazy nights have calmed a bit. This past weekend I wondered into Buckhead bars cold stone sober and boy is that always an experience. On this particular occasion, I spent the large majority of the night people watching. A girl in a tight black dress – which, speaking from experience, was probably really hot when she soberly got ready five hours before - now was misplaced on her body as she ever-so-sexily danced in a courtyard which she deemed the dance floor. (Later I saw her attempting to give a lap dance on the fountain – it wasn’t pretty).

My favorite part were the pick up lines being handed out to me and my lovely. I can’t believe girls actually fall for that kind of stuff (I’m guilty myself so this is more a shame-on-me comment). This further validated the fact that though bars are a great weekend activity, I hope to never fall in love with anyone I meet there.

OMG

I can't say anything more. I've been sworn to secrecy. But OMG.

Planes, Trains and well... Planes again.

I've been traveling quite a bit for work over the past few months - New York, Minneapolis, St. Louis, Philadelphia, London (SQUEAL!) in May - and there are several things I've picked up on as a 'business' traveler as opposed to those 'other' people.

I have gotten traveling down to the science. The right shoes, bags packed, reading material, work material -- all packed in order of when I'll need it as I arrive and go through the check-in process.

Tangent: On my first business trip I traveled with a very powerful woman in my company that is both feared and awed because of her ability to close any deal with any client (I now work with her daily and still look at her in awe but none of the fear - she'd laugh if she ever knew I feared her). We were jetting off to NYC for the launch for a very big client product and would be gone for a week and a half. I spent the entire night before planning each outfit perfectly so I could be 'so New York' (um... black anyone?). Well, I got so carried away that I ended up having to check the bag (confession: I even paid the $25 extra because it was so heavy) and when we landed I learned lesson #1 of business travel - Never EVER check your luggage, EVER. I was told this several times while we waited at the carousel with said scary woman above. End Tangent.

As I've waited in lines with vacationing families or 'others' I've become acutely aware of the stupid, stupid things people do to undoubtedly, almost purposefully make me miss my flight. In particular are the electronics and liquids people decide to pack. Have you not watched the news in the past oh say seven years? Do the numbers 3-1-1 not mean anything to you? You get 3 ounces, 1 zip lock bag, 1 per traveler - come on now!

Its the arguing that I really don't understand. The TSA (god bless them) have something like a gillion people come through their lines in an hour - they've made the rules as simplistic and readily available as possible - do you really think arguing that your 6.5 ounces of Channel makeup is an exception to the rule because its expensive? Really? Or that you didn't know that you had to take your laptop out of the bag while its scanned? And don't even get me started on strollers.

So dear, fine Internet population and readers of my blog -- take a look at this site. Read it, learn it, live it. It will really, really make my life easier. Thanks.

First Date - WOAH!

My dear readers - let me tell you a bit about my dating life. It goes like this: I go on a date, find myself mildly attracted to the idea of a second date and then BAM! the guy says some comment that leads to something about marrying me. I kid you not... it is the weirdest thing EVER!

Here are a list of my favorite "We were able to hold a decent conversation and now I'm ready to plan our lives together" lines.

1. I'm falling in like with you. (WHO SAYS THIS?!?!)


2. ME: "Let's get back to just being good friends." HIM: "And then get married."


3. You could move to *Spain and we could start our lives together.


4. If you can just do *Miami for two years I promise we can move wherever you want, Charleston perhaps?


5. I can't wait for you to meet my mom (This after a first date referencing our SECOND date where he wants me to actually meet his mom)


6. Let's go look at potential houses - I really want you to be happy if you move *here with me

*Countries/Cities have been changed to protect those associated with these stories but could be related to such places as China, Tampa, FL or Columbia, SC

Now - I know that I should be very flattered by any one of these lines. And I really do consider it fortunate that someone wants to marry me one day. But people, I'm not looking to get married! And the craziest thing? Each time I hear another "This was fun, let's get married" line I'm always as equally perplexed as the last time I heard one.

Someday I know I'll regret posting this when I'm old and lonely and have 700 cats. Please karma, be nice.

Hotel Haven

I'm traveling for work this week in Philadelphia -- I've kept the thermostat in my room at 80 degrees and couldn't be happier. I can feel all of my fingers and toes while I watch TV before I go to bed and its wonderful. I'm always cold - even when I lived in Florida. These two days have been my little hotel haven... well, that and the really, really nice dinners I've been having on the company. :)

Lobster dinner & me

I consider myself socially tuned to the graces of etiquette such as eating expensive dinners and attending theatre events. My parents (actually more my sister) was very persistent that I learn the good graces of etiquette when I was a wee southern belle. Unfortunately, I was not of legal drinking age and they didn't prepare me for the difficulties in following these rules after a few glasses (or bottles) of wine.

Thanks to my lovely career in PR, every so often I get the invite to a fabulous new restaurants in the ATL. Such was the case last week when the new Maxim Prime opened in downtown. (Yes, that's the same Maxim as the magazine - yet the wait staff was sadly disappointing in the sex appeal arena)

The evening started off great -- free open bar, six great friends and a free $600 dinner just simply because I know the right people who know the right people. Attendees at my table included my lovelies, a boyfriend of one lovely and two friends from college that I haven't seen in a while. One of those 'friends' also happens to be someone I like to kiss from time to time. We managed to drink the better part of Tuscany in wine that night and I was feeling very happy by the time the main course was served - this is where things just got bad.

Lobster -- one of my favorite dishes was set in front of me. Since it was the opening - we all decided we should share our entrees. I was in the process of dividing one (yes, I got TWO full lobster tails) when in a very Pretty Woman moment it went flying off the plate and into my purse beside me. I mean -- one second it was there, the next totally gone.

Luckily, only the 'friend' saw and this sent me into hysterics - the quite hysterics that I just sat and laughed at myself for a good minute until I could contain myself again. What is that saying? ...you can take the girl out of the country but you can't... yeah, something to the effect.

The night ended perfectly as it should - with a kiss (or a dozen). I guess my etiquette isn't the breaking point with this friend.

Beach and Beer

Friday night I found myself drunk on a very familiar beach with my very dearest friend. It's a favorite spot for me - which I've shared with everyone and no one throughout my years being raised in Florida.

"The damn beach patrol is coming on the four-wheeler. We have to hide the case." Though we said it on Friday, its a phrase we've used since high school.

"We could dig a hole and bury it." We giggled.

"Or just put it in our laps and cover it with a blanket? Hope they don't ask us to stand up!"

Thirty minutes and several pictures to 'capture the moment' later - the beach patrol never made it to our spot. We continued to sit there and look out into the vastness of night and the gulf and plan our lives like we have been doing for so many years before.

"Atlanta will be our crazy years. But we'll come back here to raise our families next door to each other."

Our conversations drifted in and out of seriousness - mixed with laughter and tension at times. We've grown up and yet still look to each other for approval and guidance. We laughed at the many romantic encounters we had with ex-boyfriends on this beach. We talked about the difficulty in finding God's calling for our lives. We remembered one of the first times drinking together at prom. We questioned if we believed in loved. We toasted to our greatest memories.

Too many beers later we decided to go meet everyone else at the local beach bar. The night continued with fond memories with dear friends - most of whom I hadn't seen in months, some even years. It ended with the two of us once again on the beach - laughing and falling asleep on beach chairs.

"Just a quick nap to sober up." Giggles again.

Some of my life's most important decisions have been made with her on this beach. Its truly amazing what a best friend and a beach can do for you when you need it the most.

The little things...

I really enjoy the little treats Google provides on holidays by creatively lacing fun accents into their branding.

Thank you, Google -- you just made my day.

All-American Girl

My grandmother got the notion when I was young that I could be a model. I took modeling lessons and learned how to strike the right pose, walk a runway and hold a smile. I went to a modeling casting call in Orlando and a swimsuit company offered me an opportunity to move to Miami and pursue a career. I was 12 years old, skin and bones thin and 'beach' blonde hair from my days of growing up in Florida. I remember the director telling me in a very thick french accent "You are the girl next store, an all-american girl." I blushed with pride.

Twelve years later I can't think of a bigger insult. I know that may sound very strange but I can't help but wish I was more worldly. I have a dream account which I work on a very large global client with my company. I spend mornings on conference calls with my european colleagues and often late nights with the asian ones. (This sounds very glamours but I usually am just taking notes.) While on a call the other day with German, French and British colleagues I spent most of the call wondering how do I live in the greatest nation in the world yet feel so inadequate?

Don't get me wrong -- I'm a good 'ol southern conservative girl through and through. I like to watch football and drink a cold American beer while wearing pearls and a polo. But, I also am envious of the children growing up around the world - speaking two or three languages, learning world history by taking field trips to the actual historical sites and viewing the world as a whole. Americans are so fixated on American pride that we alienate ourselves from the rest of the world. It's really a shame.

One box at a time

There are times when so many thoughts are in my head I wish I could take a freeze frame to capture all my emotions. I've always dealt with emotions very poorly - avoiding them seemed the best tactic. Recently I've been better with dealing with them but I have to keep each category very organized and separate from the next. I often imagine my head as a card catalogue at a library -- each category fits neatly in its own box with separate thoughts and expressions.

My career box is always very neat, organized and full. I am constantly busy and happy - pursuing the next challenge head on determined to be the best. I think I have a great ability to think in business terms. I know how to read reporters, manage client needs and impress my superiors. (I also know how to do the exact opposite of all of these so its a delicate balance) I like a great challenge - I like feeling like perfection is within my grasp. Perhaps my greatest motivation is I also hate the possibility of failure. I think all these traits have created work ethic that I'm proud of and, with time, my successes will attest to.

Another equally as full and clean box would be my friends and family. I love both. I work hard to make sure they are happy. If asked, I can't think of anything I wouldn't do for them. It's part of the reason I feel so bad that I expect so much honesty and communication out of them but I have to admit, I give little of myself in return. In fact, I can honestly say I've never shared with anyone everything I wish I could -- there are some skeletons that must remain in the closet.

Other boxes such as personal finances, relationships and faith seem to have good days and bad days when it comes to organization. I think the day I will ultimately be happy with myself is the day all of these are equally tucked away. Then perhaps I won't wake up in the middle of the night worrying about my checking account or questioning if I really believe in love.

One day, I'll have it all figured out, color coded and sorted. Until then, I'll have to take my happiness one card catelogue at a time.